We had talked about it for years, usually in no more than wistful longings during only the most peaceful moments. We should just move out here. Being here is always so relaxing. Life here is just simpler.
Leave Toronto. Move to Chatham. Could we actually do it? Should we do it?
Our visits back to my husband’s hometown were always enjoyable, but how could they not be? We returned time and again to the generosity of my in-laws’ hospitality, to the enthusiasm of old friends that we didn’t see often enough, and to a place where, if only for a weekend, we could leave much of real life in Toronto, behind.
We romanticized our rural sojourns, but at some point along the three-hour drive home on the 401 eastbound, the fantasy would dissolve into doubts, which we called, Just Being Realistic. Besides, how could I ever possibly leave the city I loved and grew up in, and my family within it? By Monday morning, in the rush of trying to get four different people out the door and to four different places, our relaxing weekend in the country could hardly be recalled.
And then, in spring of 2011, something about our conversations changed.
Life in Toronto had become so stressful that my marriage, my career and my happiness seemed to be hanging in the balance. Changes in my long-held place of business were leaving me feel defeated and cheated by the end of the long day. Our dual six-figure income seemed to barely keep us afloat despite a modest home and expenses, and I felt like my two girls, now aged four and seven, were dancing through childhood without me. My unhappiness left me feeling desperate to make a change. Our conversations about moving to the country returned, but now, instead of ending with, We can’t do it, we would end those talks with, Why? Why can’t we do it?
So we did it.
In June of last year, while tagging along on a house-hunting mission with my husband’s brother and his wife, we walked into a mid-century rancher on a 1/4 acre lot, with a stone fireplace and glowing sunroom. It was a good thing that my brother-in-law didn’t think the house was right for them. Telling nobody, we put in an offer.
We got the house. I quit the job I had held as a copywriter with the same company for more than eleven years, my husband negotiated a new expectation with his employer (he is a television producer who mainly works from home anyway), and we jumped, headfirst into a new life in Chatham.
Moving from Toronto to Chatham was a huge risk for us, but one year later, we know that it was worth it.
Cost of living has decreased drastically for us, which means that we can rely mainly on my husband’s salary while I am able to spend my time doing the things I had longed for. I am now choosing only the writing jobs I am compelled enough to take, while finally – finally – working on the novel I had waited years to begin.
And I get to be with my kids.
For the first time since I was on maternity leave, I see their faces in the hours between 7am and 5pm. I get to pick my daughter up from school. I get to volunteer for field trips without mentally calculating how many vacation days I will have left afterwards. I get to sign them up for gymnastics that take place at 4 o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon.
I can grocery shop on a Wednesday morning.
Yes, I have a much larger house and yard than I could ever afford in Toronto, but that was never the goal. It’s a nice perk. And there are other nice perks to living in Chatham, that I sometimes wonder if anybody else here ever notices, never spending more than 10 minutes travelling anywhere in town, and never having to look for parking, and eating the cheapest, most delicious local produce I have ever had.
My friends in Toronto always ask if I’m bored yet, but we haven’t had time to be bored. Our first year here has flown by, as we re-establish bonds with old friends and make new ones. There are local attractions that we haven’t even gotten to see yet, and if you want it, a rural fair or festival almost every weekend throughout the summer. The brand new movie theatre is within walking distance for us, and as movies in Chatham are roughly 50% cheaper than those in Toronto, we have availed ourselves of it regularly. I love strolling the downtown with my girls in tow, stopping in at our favourite stores and watching exciting building projects progress. There are changes here to look forward to, and I enjoy being a part of them.
Having my children grow up with my husband’s family has been a gift. Grandparents are always at the ready for an afternoon with their grandchildren, aunts and uncles are regular cheerleaders at soccer games and gymnastics practices, and my husband and I have had more date nights this year than we know what to do with, thanks to the involvement of cherished brothers- and sisters-in-law. And my family now gets to ride the train from Toronto to enjoy their weekends in the country, romanticizing their time here as we once did.
Of course, life in Chatham this past year has also had its challenges. It’s been harder for me to make friends here than I expected it to be – proximity of space or of children the same age is enough of a common denominator in Toronto to allow strangers to chat. Here, I am very aware of my ‘newness,’ and the fact that I have no shared history with the very established groups of friends that already exist.
And I do worry about raising kids in our small town. I love the bubble of home and family and these very early, very innocent years with my children here, but my children are from a mixed-ethnic background, and I worry about the lack of cultural diversity here. Happily, the schoolyard has proven to be a bit more diverse than I had been expecting, and I hope that in the coming years we welcome more and more newcomers to Chatham.
I also worry that a lack of cultural events and a lack of enthusiasm towards building Chatham’s social and cultural capital will hamper the dynamic life I want my children to live. But there are plenty of things to do here with kids; they are just different things. We are trading an afternoon in Chinatown for an afternoon at the stables. We are trading walks on The Danforth for walks in the Carolinian forest. My kids will know how to ride a horse before they know how to ride a subway. It’s different. We traded Canada’s biggest city for Canada’s biggest cornfield. But it’s ok.
And then, in the midst of a pang of doubt or a worry that we may have made a mistake, I find my myself at home at the noon-hour, preparing grilled cheese sandwiches for my four year-old and me. And while I butter bread and heat pans, she sits on a stool near me, and sings. Her song is epic, unpredictable, a universe-spanning tale of a cow and the alien who loves her. And I look over at my happy child, and she smiles, but her song doesn’t end. And I think,
It’s worth it.
